The Most Happy
by Lady Eleanor Boleyn
Summary: Marie may be Henry's Beatrix, but the story doesn't stop there. What happened to the rest of the happiest family in Christendom after we left them all behind? Series of one-shot sequels and missing scenes.


**Swords of Aquitaine**

"Dickon, come in here a moment," Henry called to his second son as he raced past the door of his chambers in breathless pursuit of his sisters, tall, fleet-footed Catelyn and plump, clumsy, stumbling Jacquetta.

At his father's words, Dickon stopped short, pulling up sharply to bow, "Father! I mean, Your Majesty – we didn't – I mean..." He stumbled over his words, trying and failing, to offer some sort of an excuse for why he and his sisters had been racing through the halls of Woodstock at quite the speed they had been. At seven, he knew they were really old enough to know better. And he was the Duke of York and Aquitaine; the heir if anything happened to Lionel. He ought to be exercising some authority over his sisters and keeping them in check, Jackie at least, if not Catelyn. After all, now that Catelyn was the future Queen of Scotland, he couldn't necessarily pull rank on her the way he used to be able to.

But his father waved away his stumbling apologies with a jovial, expansive hand.

"Never mind that. Come in here, I want to show you something."

Relieved to be out of trouble, at least for now, he raised a hand to his sisters, who had paused at the corner of the passage, glancing back nervously, and followed his father into his chambers. The private rooms were bustling, but his father took him straight into the most private of them all, his own study, and dismissed the servants tidying in there away with a snap of his fingers.

Crossing the room to the table, he stood before it and beckoned Dickon to stand beside him. Dickon needed no second urging, hurrying over and looking down at the sword that lay on the table before them.

It was a huge two-handed sword, clearly a ceremonial one, if the gilt-and diamond-encrusted cruciform hilt was anything to go by, and the pommel had been carved into the shape of an eagle with outstretched wings. Its blade, made of the sharpest steel , glittered in the candle light as it lay on top of a sword belt of the finest soft leather, dyed the deepest of royal blues.

Dickon gasped, "It's beautiful, Father!"

"It is, isn't it?" His father's voice was uncharacteristically soft, almost awestruck, "Do you know whose sword it is?"

"It's yours, isn't it?"

"In a way. This sword used to be King Francis's. It was his ceremonial sword. I took it off him when I conquered Aquitaine after he declared war on me for having married your mother rather than his widowed sister."

"King Francis wanted you to marry his sister?" Dickon's eyes went wide and his father nodded.

"Yes, but I'd already fallen in love with your mother by then. I'd already married her and she was pregnant with your brother. So when King Francis declared war on me, I had no choice but to invade France to defend her honour."

"You went to war for Mother's sake?" Dickon's eyes rounded still further and his father laughed, ruffling his hair, "I did indeed. They don't call me Sir Loyal Heart for nothing, you know! Yes, I went to war over your mother. I went to war over her and I laid King Francis's ceremonial sword at her feet in triumph, as Caesar would have done with Cleopatra."

"And now it's lying here. In front of us." Dickon's voice rang hollow with shock. He couldn't quite believe it. His father must be the best warrior in the world to win something this beautiful so easily. He reached out with tentative fingers and traced the carvings in the hilt wonderingly.

"I'm glad you like it." His father surprised him out of his trance, "After all, it'll be yours one day."

"Mine?!" Dickon gaped, and his father shrugged, "Of course. You're Duke of Aquitaine as well as of York, aren't you? Who else would deserve to wear such a sword? Here, let's see what it looks like on you."

Still in shock, Dickon stood as still as a statue as he let his father slide the beautiful sword into its scabbard and belt it around his tunic. It was far too long for him and overly heavy as well –he staggered slightly as he struggled to adjust his balance to compensate for it. Yet, the delight in his blue eyes and the way his fingers curled so possessively around the eagle's head proved how much pleasure he took in such a wonderful gift.

"Well, my Lord of Aquitaine," his father said at last, "It seems to me you might have to grow into that sword a little. But I'm sure you will, won't you?"

"Of course, Father!" Dickon had never meant a promise more in his life. "I'll grow so fast Master Knollys won't know how to keep me clothed or in armour and I'll train every day, I promise! I promise I'll become a knight worthy of wearing a sword this beautiful!"

His father laughed and ruffled his hair again, "I don't doubt it. Well, I'll put this away for now, but maybe we'll have your portrait painted wearing it when you come of age. What do you say?"

Too delighted to speak at the mere prospect, Dickon nodded eagerly, so fast he thought his head might come off. His father bellowed with mirth again and helped him out of the sword belt before he overbalanced.

"Very well. It's a bargain. Now go and find your sisters. But perhaps a knight who was truly worthy of wearing this sword would act with a little more decorum, hmm?"

Flushing scarlet, Dickon looked up at his father, but he wasn't truly angry, just raising a warning eyebrow. Dickon blew out his cheeks in relief and bowed, "Yes, Sire."

As his father waved him away, he instantly forgot the words that had come out of his mouth not two seconds earlier and flew out of the apartments, letting the door slam behind him with a great beaming smile on his face. Wait till Jackie and Catelyn heard about this! They were going to be so jealous!

He dashed down the corridor in search of them, one thought and one thought only pounding through his brain in time with his feet.

" _One day, I'm going to do what Papa did. One day, I'm going to be the one to lay that sword at Mama's feet in triumph."_


End file.
